


Walking Far From Home

by storyskein



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Related, Clarke Griffin has Feels for Bellamy Blake, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Late Night Conversations, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Romantic Tension, gratuitous handholding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8158378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyskein/pseuds/storyskein
Summary: A place to put pre-season 4 canonverse drabbles, ficlets, and spec. Title from Walking Far From Home by Iron & Wine
#1: In the Morning:  Clarke & Bellamy share a quiet moment during the exodus#2: Conversations #1: The Tower at Night: Bellamy & Octavia, Bellamy & Kane, Bellamy/Clarke#3: No. 1 Bellamy Stan: Clarke & Kane, cameo by Abby#4: The Gates:  A Homecoming, Bellamy/Clarke





	1. In the Morning (Bellamy/Clarke)

**Author's Note:**

> verbaepulchellae prompted: mutual hand-kissing, canon, angst
> 
> ms_scarlet (unknowingly) provided the soundtrack: sheep in wolves clothing by little hurricanes

_All my questions'll_  
_Be answered in the dark._  
_I've got you here,_  
_I've got you here._  


The last of the summer’s crickets played a soft song as Clarke walked to the banks of the river. The dew was cold underneath her bare feet and the chill pre-dawn air prickled at her uncovered arms. She should have gotten her jacket, but she didn’t want to disturb Bellamy. He was finally sleeping regular hours, and even though she wasn’t--not yet--she couldn’t bear to wake him for something so trivial as a jacket. Besides, it wasn’t that cold. 

Clarke stopped at the edge of the water, took a deep breath in and out. The air was sweet with water and sharp with pine and rich with decay. She closed her eyes and let herself sink into it for a moment. Earth might be trying to kill them--every day they came upon disturbing signs of the poison creeping over the land--but there was still _this_. And if this was all they had left in these last few months, then, well...It seemed a waste to not appreciate it. 

Her snarky words to the delinquents came back to her as they were admiring Earth and she was hurrying to get to Mount Weather. _Sure is pretty though_. 

Clarke opened her eyes and watched as a ribbon of hot pink expanded over the top of the tree line. Yeah. They didn’t have time to waste now, either, less than they knew even then. But now, if she couldn’t leave her tent to appreciate a sunrise in what might be her last months alive--then what was the point? 

She heard the sound of soft footfalls in the grass behind her, and her chest warmed. She didn’t turn her head, she knew who it would be. He always found her in the morning. 

Bellamy’s hand cupped the back of her neck and squeezed as he slotted himself beside her. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked as he brushed a kiss on her forehead. 

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. “Just the same as always, I guess. What are we doing? Is it going to work? Should we just be...I don’t know, partying and fucking and just...welcome it...like everyone else.”

“Well…,” He squeezed her arm and she could just feel him smirking above her. “We’re doing one of those things.” 

Clarke huffed a laugh. “Yeah. True.” 

It had happened so suddenly, the sex, and it was so easy between them it felt like this was how it had always been. One night, just a few weeks ago, sitting around a campfire, on a mission by themselves, buzzed with a little bit of moonshine. Just enough to make the edges soften, to make the laughter easy and the conversation flow.

In the face of disaster--all of the reasons not to just fell away--and were instantly replaced with a...yearning, she had no other word for it...for them to have this together. They were trying to save the world, yeah, but Clarke knew that saving the world didn’t always work. She had already lost that battle in so many ways, with so many people, and they were a constant ache in her heart. And even if they did save the world, whatever that meant at this point--there was always more to do. It would never be over for her and Bellamy, that much she knew. 

So Clarke didn’t know if this was the end or the beginning, but when she looked to the man sitting next to her, the one _always_ next to her, her heart pounded and her breath grew short. And there was no one else--was never anyone else, she realized--that she wanted to do this with. Whatever this was. 

There had been a lull in the conversation. The embers glowed deep red, the stars glittered in the sky, humid and warm late summer air enveloped them. And Clarke looked over to Bellamy, a ghost of a smile on his lips from the story he just told, and then suddenly she was in his lap, legs straddling his hips. 

She looked at him intently, noses bumping a little. “I want to kiss you.” 

“Are you--”

She smiled. “No, I’m not drunk.”

Bellamy swallowed thickly, licked his lips. “Okay then.”

They met in the middle, her leaning in and him lifting up. His lips were soft and perfect, and as his arms wrapped around her waist and her hands slid up his jaw and into his curls, their kiss deepened. Her jacket came off first, then his. She pulled her shirt off and his, needing the feel of his fire-warmed skin against her air-cooled flesh. And soon, he stood up, lifting her with him, her legs locked around his hips as he carried her to their tent. 

The sun peeked over the treetops, glittered over the ripples in the water. Campfire smoke drifted in the air, the soft stirrings of the camp waking up. 

Clarke tucked herself further under his arm. Bellamy was so sweet in moments like this, bringing her hand up to his lips and gracing a small kiss on her fingers. “How many miles today?” 

“I think we can make thirty, then do a run back to get any stragglers. Then we’ll wait at the crossing for Murphy, Emori, and Luna.” 

Clarke nodded. Murphy and Emori had been sent to meet with Luna, who was coming with a fleet of small boats and river ships. The river route would be faster to the Corridors, deep in the Trishana clan lands. 

“So about three more days until we hit the border of the Trishana lands.” A bit of anxiety crept into her chest at that. They had heard rumors about the Trishana clan, some good, some...concerning...But they were the only clan besides Azgeda that had believed--and offered--part of the solution to enduring the storm that was coming. 

Bellamy nodded. She knew he was concerned too, not least because Octavia and Roan hadn’t showed at the exodus staging area like they were supposed to. They had only a few more weeks left before they had the lottery to sort out who would come into the safe place, and he was anxious to make sure Octavia was there. 

Clarke turned his hand in hers, this time bringing his hand to her lips. His palm was rough and calloused against her lips as she kissed it. “She’ll be okay. Roan will bring her in. He believes us, and he promised help.” 

Bellamy looked down at her, and the crease in his forehead smoothed. “Yeah. I...I hope so.”

Just then Clarke heard their names in the morning air, in her mother’s voice. 

“Time to go,” Clarke sighed, taking one last look at the soft sunrise. She wished suddenly, fervently, for paints or coal or _something_ to catch the last of this era of Earth. They would go underground for who knew how long, living only in the stone and the domes, and when the emerged again who knew if Earth would have these colors, these smells. The fear, the uncertainty, pulsed hard again in her chest. 

Bellamy tightened his hand around hers as the walked up the bank. “Breathe, Clarke. One day at a time, remember?”

She exhaled fully, grateful that he was always there to bring her back to herself, that she didn’t even have to say anything for him to know. “Yeah, one day at a time.”


	2. Conversations #1: The Tower at Night (Bellamy POV, Bellamy & Kane, Bellamy/Clarke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rambly piece exploring Bellamy's POV directly after 3.16.
> 
>  
> 
> _Long Lost Century _by The Woodlands__

“But we didn’t,” Clarke said, defeat dripping from her voice. 

Bellamy stared back at her, hands still clenching her arms. Her cracked, weary voice broke over him.

Before he could even ask her what she meant Octavia’s blade skewered Pike, dripped with viscous red blood. All Bellamy could see is pain, and failure, and regret. 

\---

After the stunned silence that followed when Octavia killed Pike, the room burst into a frenzy of activity. Clarke, seeing Bellamy torn between her and Octavia had told him to _go, go, I’ll be fine, it can wait._

“Are you sure?” His eyes searched hers. _We didn’t, not yet_ rang in his ears. 

She nodded at him. “It can wait. For now.” 

He lingered long enough to call Miller and Bryan over to hold onto Clarke until Abby could tend to her, and then he went running after Octavia. 

Octavia, for her part, was furiously pulling rubble out of one of the stairwells. It was futile--those stairs had been collapsed for decades--but he knew better than to tell her that. She had to feel useful even when she knew she was trapped. 

In the way that they had, the unspoken communication honed by 17 years of siblinghood, he knew that she knew he was there. So he just stood until she was ready to say something. 

“I’m not sorry,” she bit out. 

He sighed, feeling the weight of their past wanting to crush him, right in the center of his chest. It was so much, so fucking much to deal with right now, and with all that had happened, and that horrified look in Clarke’s eyes lingering in his mind...

Honestly, as much as it killed him, he didn’t know how much he had for Octavia in this moment. For the first time in his life, he felt how much he couldn’t help her, how much she didn’t want his help. For all that she had said it before in a hundred different ways, he didn’t let himself believe it. He needed it from her, to be needed. 

But now, as he looked at his sister, so torn up by despair and rage, with a glint in her eye that killing Pike only hardened, he knew he had to leave her. Others--not just Clarke, but the people coming out of being chipped, and Kane and Abby and Miller and Bryan and Murphy, needed him more. 

Still. 

“Octavia.” She didn’t even turn to him, kept scraping her hands raw against the fallen bricks. So he talked to her back, anyway. “If you want to talk...if you need to talk. If you need anything. I’ll be here.”

Bellamy could tell she was crying, could feel it in the air. She wiped the back of her hand across her face, flung her tears away. And was silent. 

He waited a few more seconds. She continued ignoring him. 

So he left. 

\----

Abby and Jackson had already begun setting up a triage station in the throne room when he returned. Clarke and Murphy moved down the line, sorting people by need, giving them what they could. There was no other word but bizarre to see Clarke and Murphy working as a team. A brief flash of _maybe things will be different now_ crossed his mind. 

Clarke looked up as he entered the room, eyes tired and--scared? What was she scared about?--but Kane intercepted him before he could make his way over. 

“We need a plan to get down. Any ideas?” Kane looked haggard, decades older, and couldn’t meet Bellamy’s eyes. 

Fire burned around Bellamy’s throat from where Kane’s forearm had been; he could still see him--Kane’s--face above him, so fierce and so ready to let Bellamy die. 

Then, suddenly, there was the memory of Kane finding him in the bar the night that Clarke left. The Kane who sat at with him most every night after. He didn’t make Bellamy feel pitied or anything like that. Kane just kept him company. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t. 

And not even three weeks ago, now: Kane, trying to talk to him even after the massacre. Kane, never giving up on him. Kane, stopping the Rover at the gates. 

Gratitude and grief tangled in the pit of his stomach. Gratitude that Kane had been there for him, had tried in a way that no one else, besides Clarke, ever had. Grief that his own recklessness had almost gotten Kane killed and that not-Kane yet-still-Kane had almost killed him, that this would always be between them. 

In the moments that they stood next to each other, wondering how to move on, Bellamy thought of that night on the beach with Clarke. How it felt to choose her instead of anger, instead of pain. How it felt when he said those words _I don’t want to be angry at you anymore_ , the look in her eyes meant she could start forgiving herself, too. 

Bellamy didn’t blame Kane, but he knew Kane blamed himself. And it was easy for Bellamy to at least start doing something about it--he was tired, so fucking tired, of all of their stories being about grief, and suffering, and horror. That night on the beach--something else, something better, could happen between them all, too. 

“Kane,” Bellamy said, pitching his voice low. He waited until the man turned to him, looked at him. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Kane didn’t answer for a moment. “I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“It was close.”

“It wasn’t you.” It was so close. Swallowing took a few tries, Bellamy’s throat working against the swelling. “Kane, I almost killed you, too.” 

That was close, too. 

Kane glanced at him at that, nodded, then seemed to note the scars on Bellamy’s face--not the new scratches, but the ones half-healed, still crossing his cheeks. “I should have stopped Octavia.”

“Fuck, Kane.” Bellamy let out a laugh. “Are we really going to do this? How far back should we go?”

Kane kind of smirked back at him, shoved his hands through his hair, but a frown returned to his face. “I just need to say it. I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”

Bellamy paused, his eyes suddenly finding the dingy tile on the floor interesting. Kane. Octavia. Lincoln. Regret burned in his chest; suddenly this idea seemed so paltry, so stupid compared to what he had done. 

But he couldn’t apologize to Lincoln, or even to Octavia. He could apologize to Kane. And he could let Kane know that there was, on his side, nothing to be forgiven for. 

He forced himself to look Kane in the eyes. “I’m sorry, too. And I have no excuse. That was all me.”

Kane met his eyes, and there was a current of acknowledgment, of recognition. Kane rolled his shoulders back, just a bit, as if deciding what to say. He settled on, simply, “You’re forgiven.”

So simple. He didn’t deserve that, but just like he wanted to give that to Kane...the fact that Kane wanted, that Kane could return that back to him...

Bellamy looked away, let his eyes close against the burning behind them. 

Kane squeezed his shoulder, and Bellamy finally opened his eyes and looked at him. There was a small smile there--small, but real; laden with sorrow, but there. “We’ll have time to talk when we get to Arkadia. Let’s get the fuck out of this tower and go home.”

Bellamy swiped his hand over his eyes, cleared his throat. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

\---

 

Bronze afternoon sunlight faded into a pearly gray evening. A cold, damp wind buffeted the tower ahead of the storm clouds building in the distance. 

“Really, all we need is for someone to go to Arkadia and get them here with ropes and gear.” Bellamy leaned his head his arms crossed over the balcony railing. “Fuck.”

Emori looked down at the people milling around the base of the tower. A crowd gathered intermittently to look up at them, trying on their end to figure out how to get them down. “My kingdom for radio. And some dinner.”

Bellamy took a few paces across the balcony, slotted himself next to Emori. “Never trust a radio.”

“Especially one from Arkadia.” Miller’s voice floated to them from the other side of the balcony. 

“I could get you radios that worked,” Emori said. “For the right price, of course.”

Bellamy grinned at her, and she grinned back. She was still wary around them, but over the past few hours couldn’t seem to resist sassing his and Miller’s dumb ideas. 

“Enough for tonight.” Kane glanced over the edge one more time. “We all need some sleep, and the storm will be here soon.” Right as he said it the first drops of icy rain hit their faces, darkened the concrete. 

Abby lit a few of the remaining candles in the throne room. People packed in wherever they could. As a soporific silence blanketed the crowd of fifty or so, Bellamy slipped out to find Clarke. 

 

\----

Bellamy found her in the Commander’s chambers, perched on the bed with its ruined furs and broken woodwork. Rain pattered against the tower, dripping through the broken windows, pooled in murky puddles on the broken tile. 

Clarke looked up as he entered, face at first a blank mask until she realized it was him, and then the mask slid away. Whatever she needed to tell him sat heavy on her, creasing her brow, turning down her eyes. 

“Hey.” She patted the spot next to her. “Come sit next to me?”

“Sure,” he said, easy, though there was a lump in his throat. 

He sat next to her, close enough so that as the bed dipped it pushed their thighs together. He didn’t move; she didn’t move. 

The next thing Clarke did surprised him: she held out her hand, palm up, waiting. 

Bellamy covered her hand with his, intertwined their fingers, felt the bump of her small knuckles against his larger ones. They sat like that for a few minutes, her thumb swiping over the fleshy junction of his thumb and index finger. He tried not to think about what it meant that ever since she got back she kept looking at him, seeking him out, touching him. As if to assure herself that he was there, he was solid, he was real. 

But he was trying not to think about that. 

So he waited. Whatever she had to say he knew that she didn’t want to tell him, but she had to, and that’s the worst kind of thing to have to tell a person at all. 

As winter thunder rolled over them, quiet and distant, she spoke. 

“When I was in the City of Light, I saw…” Her voice hitched a little, but she continued. “I saw both Becca and ALIE. Becca was trying to get me to pull the kill switch. ALIE was trying to talk me out of it.”

Clarke sighed then, a sound that shuddered out of her. A sigh that sounded like worlds collapsing. She scooted back, not letting go of his hand and pulling him with her until they were both fully sitting on the bed, facing each other. Clarke slid her other hand into his, and Bellamy’s felt a tightening in his chest when he looked at her--she looked exhausted, beat down, defeated. His instinct was to reach out to her. Pull her into his arms and hold her, because whatever it is she wanted to tell him was already making his bones ache. But he couldn’t do that--not yet. 

Clarke paused again, and he could practically see her worrying her lip a bit as she decided how to continue. 

“Just tell me, Clarke.” He gave her hands a small squeeze. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Whatever you tell me, I believe you.”

She nodded against his chest, took a breath. 

“ALIE told me that...that…” 

She took a deep breath. Paused. 

Suddenly, she giggled. 

“That…” 

Another giggle. 

“God, Bellamy, it sounds ridiculous as hell. It sounds so _stupid_. And I’m having a hard time believing...knowing...whether or not what she said is even real.”

Bellamy squeezed her hands, tried to remain still and calm even as anxiety crawled into his chest, soured his stomach. “Just say it.” 

Clarke took a deep breath, and then spat it out, rapid fire: “ALIE said that about a dozen nuclear reactors are ready to meltdown. Seven are already in trouble. And we have six months to live, basically, unless we can find a way to fix it.” 

There was a pause. 

Whatever Bellamy was expecting, it wasn’t _this_. 

A laugh broke the silence. Bellamy realized, surprised, that it was _his_ laughter. Another one followed, then Clarke started to giggle. Before he knew what happened, they were clutching each other, ribs weak from wheezing and laughing, tears streaming down their faces. Bellamy hadn’t laughed like that in years, not since before Octavia was taken. His throat almost couldn’t take it, but he couldn’t stop it either. 

Fuck. They were fucked, in the most absurd, almost glorious in its scale, apocalyptic way possible. Well, shit. 

Bellamy wiped his eyes, grin still lingering on his face. Clarke’s hand found his again, linking them, like she just couldn’t bear to be apart from him any longer. He was okay with that. 

They laid there for another moment before Clarke hastily sat up. “I don’t want to sleep here. Come on.” She grabbed a lantern from the nightstand and walked out of the room. 

The corridor had an abandoned, lonely feel about it, lit only by the single light she carried. In reality, they only walked about ten doors down from the throne room, but it felt like more. It felt like privacy. 

Clarke pushed the door open revealing a modest bedchamber with just one small bed, a nightstand, and a desk. A tapestry covered the window, making it considerably warmer than the Commander’s chamber. 

“Was this your room?” He was genuinely curious. The anger at her for staying in Polis seems so far away from him now. 

“No. I don’t want to go there, either.” 

Grief and regret laced through her voice, and Bellamy watched as her throat worked to keep tears down. “You want to talk about it?”

Clarke shook her head.. “Not yet. Not here. Not...not tonight.” 

Bellamy understood. Pain and sorrow and confusion haunted them both. Memories could wait. 

Bellamy followed her lead after she toed off her boots, unlacing his as well and shrugging off his jacket. There was only one bed, but he tried not to think about it too much. Bellamy was just about to offer to take the floor when Clarke sat on the bed and started unhooking her corset. 

“Don’t even offer to take the floor,” she said, rolling her eyes, fingers loosening the knots. “Or I’ll kick your ass.”

He smirked at her to hide the fact that he is doing everything he could to not just watch her shrug out of that corset. “Wouldn’t think of it.” 

But fuck, he must really be tired, because thoughts he didn’t let himself have about Clarke, ever, started to breach his defenses. Thoughts about the way she looked so worn and so soft; the way he just wanted to follow her into bed and wrap himself up in her. 

Clarke dropped the corset to the floor, sighed with relief and flopped back onto the bed.

“Holy shit, that feels good,” Clarke groaned, then eyed him. “Why are you still standing? Come on. Come experience _laying down_.”

Bellamy shrugged off his jacket, debated about his pants before realizing they had blood on them. So, trying as hard as he could to not think about it, he shoved his pants down, then laid back on the bed. 

“God, this feels good,” he echoed her, tone almost reverent. He had never slept on a bed so soft: furs and what must be a feather mattress of some sort. 

“I know, right?” Clarke smiled at him. Her eyes were tired, but it was a real smile. “We should make sure we can find a way to take these back to Arkadia.”

“I call dibs.” He cradled his head in his palms, arms akimbo. “At least on the furs. Arkadia is fucking cold.” 

They slipped under the covers, pulled them up around their shoulders. It was weird, though, sharing a bed with Clarke. They slept by each other’s side a few times, especially over the last few days...But this was a bed, and it was quiet and peaceful, and she led them here, together. 

Clarke leaned over to blow out the candle in the lantern, the rolled onto her side to look at him, and he rolled on his side to face her. It was silent for a moment as they watched each other, eyes adjusting to the dark. 

“What are we going to do, Bellamy?”

“I don’t know. You said you weren’t sure if it was real?”

Clarke closed her eyes, and her brow creased. “I just...it was all in my mind, you know? And I have no way of knowing if she was just lying. I don’t think she was, but this also seems...just…”

“Kind of ridiculous?”

She opened her eyes, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. He fought the sudden, strong impulse to put press his thumb there, feel her smile under his fingertips. “Yeah. Kind of ridiculous.” 

“Do we tell people?” Clarke curled the pillow tighter into her hand, looked at him thoughtfully. “I always remember how you were right, about not telling about Murphy. How people who were afraid would react. I should have listened.”

“You hated me. Why would you listen?”

She snorted and smiled. “I didn’t hate you.”

“Fine. But you thought I was an ass.”

“True. That hasn’t changed.” And she giggled then, maybe induced by exhaustion and slight hysteria, but still a giggle. It made him feel good; it made this feel normal. Normal with a side of exploding nuclear reactors and being trapped in a 30-story tower. “But the good kind of ass. The kind of ass that I need.”

Clarke drew in a breath and blushed, but Bellamy couldn’t help but grin, just a bit. He didn’t push it though, and let her power through the awkwardness. 

“Yeah. Mom and Kane first,” Clarke said after an unsure-how-to-proceed moment. 

“Then Raven and Monty when we get back,” Bellamy agreed. “They can help to figure out if this is real or not. And we should question Jaha about what he knows.”

“You think he’ll tell us?

“Maybe. ALIE’s gone, and his best interest isn’t to be irradiated with the rest of us.” Bellamy considered for a moment, thinking about Thelonious Jaha and why he did the things he did. “We just need to give him a purpose. A reason to join us.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Clarke shifted closer to him. What had been several inches was now...less. “You’re good at that, you know. People. When the time comes you should tell them.”

“Me and my motivational speeches.” He said it sardonically, but his throat hurt was swollen and painful and dry, and the words caught. 

Clarke reached out her free hand, placed it lightly on his throat. He tried not to think of how soft her eyes were, how concerned, but her hands were on his neck, gentle and warm. “I’m sorry, I just kept talking. I should have considered.”

He shook his head. Since when had they been alone? Able to talk? “I wanted to.”

Clarke gave him a look and was that just him or did her eyes dip to his mouth? Then said: “I’ll be right back.”

She rolled out of bed and padded out of the room. She left the door open, and a triangle of candlelight flickered over the floor.

Within minutes she was back, shutting the door behind her. There was a whispered, “Fuck! Ouch!” when she tripped on something between the door and the bed. Finally, she climbed into bed but stayed sitting up with the furs and blankets around her lap.

“It is so fucking cold! The throne room is warm, but the fucking hallway…” She trailed off, and he heard the snap of bottles and swish of water in a metal canteen. “Here, sit up. I want you to swallow this....”

Clarke cut off his questions and protests, answered them with a smile in her tired, husky voice. “I crushed up some anti-inflammatory pills, dissolved them in some water. They were from my mom’s med-kit. No, no one else needs them. Yes, you should take them.” She handed him a small container filled with a sludgy paste, their fingers brushing slightly. 

He pushed himself to seated, tried to ignore how his throat suddenly felt worse, like the muscles were pulling apart in every direction. 

The medicine tasted awful, chalky and bitter, but it slid down his throat and calmed some of the heat. 

“You look so tired, Bellamy,” Clarke said when they laid back down, again facing each other. She scooted closer to him and tucked the furs right under her chin. It was...cute. 

(Goddamnit.)

“Thanks.” Exhaustion and swelling roughened his already low voice. “Love the flattery. So do you, by the way.”

“That’s because I _am_ tired. So fucking tired. I mean, aren’t you? Weren’t you expecting this all to be,” her hand made a _poof_ gesture, “done?”

Disappointment was an emotion that Bellamy had schooled himself out of at a young age, but...

“Yeah,” he confessed and felt instantly foolish for it. “I thought we might get a chance at a break.”

“So did I. Well.” She paused, gave him a considering look. “When I let myself think that we...that we would win. I thought it would be over. We would get to go home, do something more than just...fight.” 

Clarke closed her eyes. “What are we saving the world for, Bellamy?” She said it in a rush, voice full of shame, like she shouldn’t even be voicing her doubt. Her eyes flicked to him, worried, scared. “I--I wouldn’t---I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, you know? But. Why?”

“Clarke.” Before he could even think better of it, he slid one of his hands to hers, weaving their fingers together. Her eyes dropped to their hands for a moment, and her lips tucked into that small smile that somehow, deep inside him, he knew was a smile just for him. It was a smile that made him wish he could give her some grand speech about how important it all was. 

But it was a night for hushed truths in the safety of a warm bed, not pretty half-truths that wouldn’t make either of them feel any better.

“Honestly...I don’t know.”

“I’m tired, Bellamy,” Clarke whispered. “I told ALIE we would figure it out, together. But...I don’t know if I have another fight in me.”

“You do, though. Clarke. You have us. Your mom, Kane. Everyone.”

Clarke squeezed his fingers between hers. “And you.”

Bellamy swallowed. He never knew exactly how to respond to her when she said those things. It warmed him; it scared him. “Yeah. Of course. Me too.”

Clarke regarded him for a long moment, jaw twitching. The silence grew heavy between them with unsaid things, so many unsaid things. Just when he thought that they were leaving the conversation, just when he was about to tell her goodnight, Clarke spoke. “I think...I think...I want to fight for time. I need more time, Bellamy.”

His eyes fluttered shut. A rush of adrenaline tingled at his jaw. “Time sounds like a good thing to fight for.” Bellamy opened his eyes to find her staring at him, blue eyes glinting in the dark.

“What about you?” She whispered in the dark. “If you had to choose something.”

“A nap?”

Clarke smirked, toed him in the shin. “Not a bad choice.”

_Truth. You wanted this to be honest._

“A second chance, I guess. I don’t want...I don’t need things to be perfect. But I do want a chance for them to be better.”

She nudged even closer to him, so that her cheek was right next to their clasped hands. “Yeah. I…” But she closed her mouth. Bellamy knew the look in her eye though, the one where she was going through the litany of those they had lost. “Me too. But also…,” she gave a short laugh, one he couldn’t discern. “I’m selfish. I want time for myself. I want a second chance for me.”

“Clarke.” He rolled his eyes a little. She caught it and a small grin quirked her cheeks. God, he had missed this about them, the calling each other's bullshit. “You think that’s all altruism on my part? No. I fucked up. I want to try again. I have people to mourn. I want to mourn them. I need to help Octavia, in some way. I want…” He stopped before the word _you_ , the rest of the words piling up behind his lips. 

Clarke understood. The same silence fell between them after she had answered time, because for her _time_ and for him _a second chance_ , meant finding somehow, someway, for them to make something. Together. For their people. 

For them, too, maybe. 

They laid, curled together, facing each other, hands clasped for a long while. Occasionally rustles and footsteps broke the silence, distant shouts from the streets. But they stayed quiet, together, both lost in their own thoughts and memories. 

“We should go to sleep,” Bellamy whispered. He realized that his thumb was stroking over Clarke’s knuckles, that she was watching the motion in a vacant, exhausted way. 

“Can we…” Her eyes darted to him. “Will you hold me?”

Bellamy swallowed hard, stomach tightening even as his chest warmed, and even as tired as he was there was a swoop in his low belly. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, Clarke.”

Clarke smiled again, that small smile, then she rolled over and slotted herself next to him. He pulled the covers higher over them, but then he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, actually holding her seemed impossible. But then Clarke grabbed his arms and drew them over her waist. 

“Good night, Bellamy,” she murmured, lacing her fingers in between his. 

“Good night, Clarke.” 

She didn’t say anything else, and her body relaxed into his. Bellamy drifted in and out of sleep, chaotic dreams and exhausted blankness, sweet warmth and Clarke’s soft breathing. He didn’t know how much sleep either of them got by the time the shadows lightened and the sounds from down the hall grew louder. 

“We should get up,” Clarke whispered, unmoving. 

“Yeah. They’ll be looking for us.”

Clarke turned over, eyes searching his. “We’ll figure it out, right?”

Bellamy brought his hand up to her face, slowly pushed her sleep tousled hair out of her eyes. “You did the right thing, Clarke. And yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

She let out one last, long sigh, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Let's go save the world, then."


	3. No. 1 Bellamy Stan (Clarke & Kane, cameo by Abby)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mego24, ship-picky, rashaka, and velvet-tread, featuring dueling Bellamy-stans, Clarke and Kane

The clock chimes out nine o’clock as Clarke wraps the last piece of cake and puts it in her satchel. The Rock Fall clan had brought grains to trade, and there was some honey that a TriKru village had brought in, and yeah. The cooks made a pretty good cake with it, kind of like a biscuit with a honey glaze. Someone in the kitchens even got fancy with some lavender and rosemary sprinkled on top. It was so good and she knows Bellamy has a bit of a sweet tooth...

Anyway, Clarke had grabbed the last piece and hid it, knowing that Bellamy would be on shift until late. She stuffs an apple and some soft cheese and the cake in her bag, along with a canteen of water and her blanket. It was supposed to be cold tonight, and she (doesn’t think about it too much) but didn’t want him cold. 

You know. Friend things. 

So she’s making her way to the hangar when she sees Kane. Who also has a pack, and one of the new jackets that the tailors just finished slung over his shoulder. 

Kane looks up at the same time she sees him. His eyes glance over her, sees she’s carrying her pack, headed out the door. 

“Oh, hey Clarke,” he says easily, shifting his weight on his feet. “Where are you headed?”

She blushes. God. Of course. “I...Well, Bellamy is on guard duty--”

“Yeah, till late. I thought I’d just--”

“Bring him some dinner,” they finished in unison. 

Clarke smiles, fleeting, at Kane. She doesn’t get to see Bellamy much these days, and she’s not giving up an opportunity to chat with her best friend. “Well, I guess I’ll just--”

Kane edged to the door. “You’ve seemed tired lately, Clarke. Why don’t you just give me what you have, and I’ll take it to him.”

“Oh, no, no trouble.” Clarke sparks on an idea. “Didn’t you want to hang out with my mom or something?” She blushes harder at what _hang out_ means for them, but she has a goal here, and damned if she won’t be the one bringing Bellamy Blake his dinner. 

Kane reddens, looks away. 

Gotcha, Clarke thinks, smug. 

“It’s okay. I’ll see her after.” Kane gestures to the jacket on his shoulder. “And I wanted to give Bellamy his new guard jacket.”

_Fuck._

Was it that petulant to say, _Well I have a blanket?_

Probably. 

“Oh hey you two,” a familiar voice calls. They look up to see Abby coming in the Hangar door from outside. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hi Mom,” Clarke says, accepting a squeeze from her mom before Abby moves over to give Kane a kiss on the cheek. 

“What are you two up to?” Abby asks, sliding her arm around Kane’s waist. 

“I was just--”

“--Going to--”

“Take Bellamy dinner,” they say again in unison. 

Abby divides a glance between them both.“Oh well. You’re both too late.”

Clarke’s head snaps up. “What? What do you mean?”

Abby shrugged. “I just brought him a plate.” 

“Oh.” Clarke deflates. “Well.” 

“I guess…,” Kane looks at her, and his mouth quirks into a smile as he hands over the jacket. “I’m going to... _hang out_...with your mother. Why don’t you see if Bellamy needs a jacket?”

If Clarke could melt into the ground on the spot, she would. “Sure. Yeah. Okay.” 

“Night Clarke.” Her mother’s smile is a bit too knowing for Clarke’s liking. Clarke decides not to think about it. 

“Night, Mom. Night Kane.” She smirks a bit. _Goal achieved_ , she thinks as she watches them head into the living quarters. Then she turns and heads towards the door to find Bellamy at his post.


	4. The Gates

_It’s too familiar_ , Bellamy thinks, breaking through the treeline. The gates of Arkadia loom before them, looking at once comforting and ominous and...small. Empty. Home and yet...not. 

Empty eyes and grim faces trudge past him. Harper, Miller and Bryan, along with the remaining guards and other people well enough to help, usher people along. He feels bad, a little, that Arkadia is a mess that tired people will have to clean up before there’s even a nominal chance at rest. But, well. Nothing to do but get people back inside to some sort of safety. 

The chaos of the last few weeks and the harrowing descent down the tower hang in the atmosphere. Bellamy shudders, pushes away the memory of just that morning, the winter winds blowing at him as he made the last descent down the tower. Most had made it down with only a few injuries, but some were more shell-shocked than others. 

Bellamy takes up a position at the small rise before the descent into the settlement. Kane stands opposite of him, about twenty feet away, and people walk between them. Arkadians and, to Bellamy’s surprise, a few grounders, too. People who just came with them because their own villages were decimated by ALIE. He thinks, vaguely, that not even a month ago he would have stopped them. Now he doesn’t care. He just wants a shower and his bed. 

Bellamy’s intuition pings, and he looks up to see Clarke emerging from the treeline. As she steps from the shadows late winter sun glints on her hair. She’s a bit of a mess, too--they all are--bruises of lavender under her eyes, a scrape on her cheek from catching it on a concrete ledge on the way down, frizzy and matted hair from the past two weeks of exposure. 

His heart thumps hard and the memories he’s been keeping at bay return with it. She’s walking with her mother this time, not alone, and they stop to talk with Kane as the remainder pass by Bellamy. He hears the name Roan on the breeze, and whatever had happened between them, he’s glad the man is alive, same with Indra. All of the injured had been in the vanguard of Rovers, driven by Raven and Jasper and escorted in by Jackson. 

So now it was just them left, Kane and Abby and Clarke and him. He’s unsure of whether or not to come close to them, it seems like a family moment. Abby leans down to kiss Clarke on the forehead, and Kane takes Abby’s hand, and Bellamy watches as Clarke smile a little. Then Kane and Abby walk ahead, but not before Kane gives him a nod, and Abby smiles at him, and something small unwinds in his chest. 

Clarke stands across from him now, and it’s so familiar that it’s hard for him to breathe. Added to that what she had whispered to him the night before, the knowledge of the world ending that only they know, and well. 

They’re lingering, unsure. Both of them, he knows, having the memory of five months ago playing in their minds. Him, trying to get her inside ( _if you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you...please come inside...you don’t have to do this alone_ ). Her, pressing a kiss to his cheek ( _take care of them for me...may we meet again_ ), hugging him tight as he grasped her hair, not believing that this was happening. 

Bellamy starts walking forward with that memory, how it still aches in his chest even though he has moved on (he has, he has, it just still hurts). He walks as if he can leave it behind him, behind them. 

Clarke moves with him then, parallel to him, unspeaking and a few feet away. When he steals a glance at her, her jaw is working with her own memories. They’ve been through the gates before, but not like this. Not when it’s the same setting sun and the same line of people. The same weight of violence just hours before. 

They drift closer, that tether that has fixed itself between them tugging until they’re almost brushing sides. 

Then Clarke stops. Bellamy takes another step before he realizes, then turns to her. She’s not leaving again, he knows that, but it’s just so similar, and with what she told him last night about ALIE, the weight of what they have to do, he’s just...he’s just unsure of what happens next. For Arkadia. For her. For him. For them. 

A chill wind picks up as Clarke stands there as he watches her. She’s squinting at Arkadia and her breathing is shallow, and he wants to just...reach out to her. But he can also sense that she’s working on something, and--he knows she’s walking in, but maybe she needs a minute. Bellamy glances up towards the entrance and sees Monty lingering, a questioning look on his face. Bellamy gives him a nod and half a wave. Monty reciprocates then turns and walks to Harper, who is waiting for him on the inside. 

Eventually, Clarke looks up at him. “You okay?”

“Me?” He half-laughs. “No. Not really. You?”

“No.” Clarke presses her lips in a line. “I’m not.” She swallows hard. “I don’t know how to do this.” 

“Me either, Clarke. No one knows how to fix the apocalypse.” He pauses and adds, “Again.” Which is both funny and tragic, and they both flash each other small grins and then sigh. 

Impulsively, not letting himself think too much about it, Bellamy holds out his hand, just like she did not even two days before. They’re friends, whatever else they are, and right now he needs a friend to go inside with, and she needs a friend to help her get inside. 

“Come on,” he says. 

Clarke looks down at his hand. When she looks up at him, there’s a small smile on her face and her eyes are shining with tears, and _shit_ , that’s not what he wanted, but then she slides her hand into his and squeezes tight. He squeezes back. 

She knuckles away one of the tears that fell and sniffs the rest back. There’s nothing more he wants to do than to hug her, but he doesn’t think either of them could take that. _Just get inside. The rest will come later_. 

“Ready?” He asks. 

“Yeah.” She nods once, determined and so Clarke-like it makes his chest warm. Whatever else, she’s here, and he’s here. Somehow, they made it back. “Let’s go inside, Bellamy.”

With that, they step forward, and inside the gates of Arkadia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the100skypeople for beta'ing <3
> 
> Written to _Almost Faded_ and _I Know You Love to Fall_ by Message to Bears


End file.
